


Song

by WhenLifeGivesYouLemons



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Character Parallels, Extended Metaphors, F/M, Post-Season/Series Finale, The King in The North, short form
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 07:39:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8154362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhenLifeGivesYouLemons/pseuds/WhenLifeGivesYouLemons
Summary: I wrote this for @petyrsbae's contest on tumblr - it's posted there under my url @mintmojito-lemonslice.





	

“King in the North! King in the North!”

The words still echoed in her ears. A part of her had been caught up in the moment, and she remembered she had looked up at Jon’s solemn face as her heart swelled with pride. But that part of her was so easily buried now, and as she walked through the snow freshly fallen around Winterfell she sighed at how much things, no, _she_ , had changed. 

_Life is not a song, sweetling._

Her mouth quirked at the memory. Well, it certainly wasn’t the songs that she had dreamt of, once - about Jonquil with flowers in her hair, brave knights in glorious battles or heroes felling giants. Those songs were foolish dreams, nothing more - that lesson she had learned.

No, she didn’t need those songs – but, she understood now, that this life that had been thrust upon her was its own song. And, she wondered, when had her ears become attuned to a different kind of melody, one that was darker but stronger, that spoke of ambition and power and _freedom_ , a song as equally terrifying as it was sweet. 

A mockingbird’s song.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s a pretty picture.”

The words, though spoken softly, were somehow louder than the Northern lords declaring a bastard King in the North. He remembered he had stood in the hall but his mind had been elsewhere, his eyes only on her. And he had felt his heart clench as she looked at her bastard brother, pride reflected in her sweet smile. Now, staring out at the fresh snow covering the grounds of Winterfell, he sighed at how much things, no, _he_ , had changed. 

_Life is not a song, sweetling._

His brow furrowed as he remembered the words he had said once, a time when he had truly believed them. She had her head full of songs, dreaming of maidens and knights and heroes, and better for her to have her dreams torn down gently rather than all at once. The songs, he knew, were false – he had learnt that lesson long ago. 

No, he had given up on all those songs – but, in a way he didn’t understand, she was her own song, one that despite himself he found he was straining to hear. And, he wondered, when had he realized that he wanted, _needed_ , to believe in that song, a dark melody of ambition and power and _chaos_ , as equally beautiful as it was terrible.

So he sang the mockingbird’s song.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for @petyrsbae's contest on tumblr - it's posted there under my url @mintmojito-lemonslice.


End file.
